


Nightwatch

by Catsnake



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 06:06:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9806507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsnake/pseuds/Catsnake
Summary: Eight-year-old Joric predicts something terrible happening to Morthal one night, but as danger approaches, an unnerving stranger appears.(Alternatively: vampire versus dragon)





	

            Night hung heavily over Morthal, as it always did. By day, the village that served as capital of grim Hjaalmarch, buried in the heart of its sprawling swamp, was peaceable enough: dragonflies darted over walkways like playful, iridescent sprites, friendly voices called to one another; Morthal’s solitude could be almost comforting. But by night, the fog that hung over the village felt heavy, suffocating. The collective voices of strange creatures in the swamp was all-encompassing. The water gently lapping in the darkness took on a new quality altogether: it was almost like a quiet voice, inviting one into the blackness to come and join it, to lie down in its depths.

            And there was, of course, the long-held association of the swamps of Hjaalmarch with vampires. Every few years there was a claimed sighting. More uncommonly, there were disappearances. Death was swift and took on many forms in Skyrim, but succumbing to black figures in the nighttime swamps outside Morthal, amid stagnant waters and forlorn deathbell flowers, was a fate regarded with particular terror, particularly among Morthal’s residents.

            Joric was accustomed to all of this. Morthal was his only home, and someday, it was his to inherit and protect. His mother, the Jarl Ravencrone, was away on one of the rare occasions business required her presence at a meeting beyond Hjaalmarch’s reaches, along with her husband and housecarl. Joric had asked to join them, but he had accepted her “no” immediately. _You know well the dangers of Skyrim_ , she told him. And so here, at Highmoon Hall, he remained with Morthal’s guard. It had been a few days, and her return was imminent, but tonight, Joric sat alone on the tallest roof on the hall, huddled against the cold.

            He’d had a terrible dream, of shadowy wings, flashing teeth, and fire, and it had dragged him into wakefulness. He awoke with the sense that something terrible was about to happen sitting as heavily on his chest as if it were a physical object, and he knew too well that he was too like his mother, with her unique gift, to take it lightly. He didn’t bother with the guards. Too many of them, he knew, put little enough stock in his mother’s visions (until, inevitably, they came true), but he knew that his own dreams would be especially doubted: he’d be poured a mug of warm milk, and tucked back into his bed. So Joric had slipped outside, quiet as a shadow, and he kept watch with all the rigor his eight-year-old self could muster.

            By this point, he’d likely been outside for hours. Despairingly, he felt he was starting to lose feeling in his toes and fingers. He knew he could not go back inside, not with this overwhelming unease. He glanced around below at the village walkways in the small pools of lamplight: he saw no one. It was probably around the time of the changing of guard, he thought, and at this quiet hour, the new shift was likely slacking, as they were prone to do in Morthal this late.

            Then he saw it: along the rocky hills outside Morthal, headed toward the town, a rider on a black horse. His heart tightened, could this be what he feared? But as he watched, he heard another sound, one that drove the question from his mind: a bellowing sound, heading toward the town from the sky, and the faint crack of wings, increasing in volume. His heart caught in his throat. A dragon. He’d heard the rumors of the dragon activity all over Skyrim, but out here, in the quiet, muting embrace of the swamp, Morthal had always felt far-removed from such stories. But now it was happening.

            He felt frozen in place. He remembered, suddenly, the rider out there in the darkness, and he combed the shadows with his eyes, glad the moon was bright and full. He finally found him: the rider had turned, on his horse, to face the incoming shadow darkening the sky, on a rocky peak beyond the town. The dragon came into view, an apparition of gliding death. It had noticed the rider, and now targeted him. The rider raised his sword in challenge. His black horse reared, releasing a terrified whinny that reached Joric’s ears muted by distance. But the next sound he heard with clarity: the dragon, with a snarl, opened its jaws and blinding flame spewed from its maw—in the flash of light, Joric saw the creature better: gleaming scales and teeth like shortswords before the night returned jarringly to darkness. With his free hand, the rider had cast a protective ward spell, and the flames had roiled around it like water rushing against a stone in a river. With a great thud, the dragon landed, and its head snaked out and struck at the rider. The rider leaped to safety, but Joric heard the horse scream, and it faltered, limping along the rocky precipice before collapsing at its edge, making a hideous cry that Joric was grateful the air barely carried to his ears.

            The rider, meanwhile, swung at the dragon, and Joric could see the gleam of his blade and the gleam of the dragon’s teeth, as well as something else, something near the rider’s head that shone red. The dragon sent another furious jet of flame at him, and the rider cast another ward, and they momentarily stood locked that way, the dragon and the stranger. The dragon’s flame stopped and then it drew a breath and pressed again with a stream of fire, advancing now as it did so, crawling toward the man. The man, meanwhile, was forced to step back. It was clear the fight was taking its toll from the man’s defensive posture as he desperately held up his ward, and then he dropped his sword to use both hands to cast it. Joric knew he should climb down, run and alert the guards, but he was captivated watching these two, his heart fluttering in his chest.

            The dragon was close to the man now, and as it pinned him with flame, it stood tall, raised a great hind foot, and slammed it onto the man, pinning him. Joric watched, mesmerized, terrified, certain now that he was going to watch the stranger’s death. But the dragon snarled suddenly as if in pain and lifted off, and the man stood—no, not the man, Joric saw now. Something the size of the man, but differently shaped. This creature stretched two grotesque wings and flew up off of the ground, and then hovered, and as the dragon moved its head to strike him, he drove a hand tipped seemingly in claws at its eyes. The dragon stepped back and swiped at him with its tail, catching him hard and sending him into the ground, but he rose again immediately, casting some red spell at the dragon that caused it to roar in pain, lowering itself to the ground as the humanoid creature approached.

            What was this rider? He was witnessing a Daedra, Joric thought, but no, he realized, he did not sense a Daedra, and despite the distance, Joric felt certain he would be able to sense a Daedra as powerful as this creature from where he sat. The creature had the dragon pinned now: it crouched, heavily injured, on the ground. He moved swiftly toward its head, and with one strong motion drove his claws into the dragon’s throat. With a choking sound, it died, and the stranger stood on the ground and even as Joric watched, his silhouette changed, the wings receding into his back. The dragon began to glow as if on fire, then, and its flesh burned away as something golden streamed from the body into the man, and when the light faded, nothing remained but a skeleton. Joric gasped, and the man turned toward where he perched on the roof, and he saw clearly two sharply glowing red eyes.

            _A vampire_ , Joric knew then immediately. Had it drained that dragon’s soul? Joric wondered what secret powers vampires had; he had never heard of this in the stories. The vampire turned away from Joric, and his heart began to settle. He wondered if the vampire had really seen him at all. At first he wondered where it was walking, but then he saw: the mortally wounded horse was still alive, feebly trying to stand. The vampire drew his sword and made a swift motion, and the horse collapsed immediately. The rider knelt over the horse for a long moment, and when he stood, Joric saw no hint of glowing red eyes. Perhaps he had imagined it, he thought. Perhaps the man was no vampire at all.

            And then he saw the stranger begin the walk down the path into Morthal. Joric began to climb down immediately, and walked over to the town’s entrance.

            He stood under the light of a nearby lamp, and he drew himself up as the stranger walked into the light. The man was, he was surprised to see, a fellow Nord, wearing some kind of black light armor. He had black hair and the hint of a beard, and a handsome face. His eyes, however, were unsettling: a deep red, with an unnatural depth. Joric could see his aura now: the man was a vampire, beyond a doubt. What surprised him more was what else he sensed in the stranger’s aura: he sensed no malice at all, directed at him or anyone else in Morthal.

            “You have protected Morthal from a terrible danger,” said Joric. The vampire looked with a hint of amusement at the eight-year-old boy. “But you are a vampire,” Joric continued. This evoked a flash of genuine surprise on the vampire’s face; he quickly hid it, but continued to watch Joric carefully. “As son of the Ravencrone and future jarl of Morthal, it is my inherited duty to protect Morthal from vampires, as my ancestors have done for countless years. I’m afraid I have to tell you that you aren’t welcome to stay here.” Joric stood rigid, his heart pounding.

            But the vampire smiled, and Joric saw a flash of fangs. “A brave young jarl,” he murmured. “Don’t worry. I’m only passing through.”

            And with that, the handsome man moved past him, following the road as it passed through the center of town, silent as a cat. Joric watched him for a moment.

            “Vampire,” he called softly and suddenly.

            The man stopped and looked over his shoulder.

            “Take a horse from the jarl’s stables. It’s the least I can do in return for you saving Morthal from that dragon.”

            The vampire turned around and gave Joric a quick bow and a genuine smile.

            “Generous of you. Much appreciated, young lord.”

            And then he turned around again, changing direction slightly for the stables. Joric stood in his bubble of lantern light, watching, lost in thought, long after he had heard the faint clatter of hooves travel up the path out of Morthal.


End file.
